Life
by Ellie Aluinn
Summary: This is a glimpse into the life of one person who may be like so many others; the silent majority, trapped by their own inability to communicate. Complete
1. Chapter 1

This is a glimpse into the life of one person who may be like so many others; the silent majority, trapped by their own inability to communicate.

* * *

I am not SM nor am I IceQueen, but these thoughts are mine.

* * *

It's been over seven months but not eight, not yet.

Selective invisibility, unless rudimentary dialogue transpires, is a way of existence.

A cup of hot chocolate and a plate with two white Tim Tams is placed on the table before me; right now I am dressed therefore visible.


	2. Chapter 2

Touch. Such a simple action.

Reaching out. An act stating "I enjoy you."

We walk side by side. Feet apart.


	3. Chapter 3

Vulnerability. I stand beside you completely void of clothing.

Computer screen. It is your focus.


	4. Chapter 4

No 'Good morning'. One of us does the leaving in the morning.

Propriety in front of others is never compromised. The end of the work day warrants an awkward 'Hello.'

I retire alone. I don't recall the last time we said 'Good night' to each other.


	5. Chapter 5

More months have passed.

I sat there, a towel covering the chair, my body glistening in oil.

He sat across from me adjusting himself, then spoke about work.


	6. Chapter 6

Christmas Eve and I'm in bed. We have to be up early to attend breakfast with our family.

I wake at 2am . . . alone.

Christmas Day breakfast is lovely, relaxing; a reprieve.

Home by lunchtime. The lounge beckons, sleep absorbs his time; obligations completed.

Seven hours later I'm still keeping my own company.


	7. Chapter 7

I started a new job two weeks ago. I love my job; I have social interaction, I laugh, smile.

My hours would suit a mother with school-aged children. However, I arrive at work an hour and a half early and usually stay for another two afterwards.

Not surprisingly, my absence from home is not missed.


	8. Chapter 8

Fourteen months.

My hand fists his flesh as he drives.

Countless batteries. Cold, hard plastic.

My skin aches for want of warming touch.


	9. Chapter 9

Two more months.

He speaks of someone else's nipples.

Never have mine rated a mention.

He leaves soon . . . a month's reprieve.


	10. Chapter 10

Naked beside him I stood.

Bent over the table. Half my face covered by hair, the other pressed to the polished wooden surface.

A kiss or three to my neck, but not my mouth.

A sharp-nailed finger rubbed my dry button - just for a moment or two.

The sound of his zipper, hollow in my ears.

Without checking _down below, _his member plunged into my dry depths.

A few minutes in, my back covered with his shirt - a receptacle for his genetic history.

Still no kiss, still no thought of me.

Silent, solitary tear spilt from my eye.

A week ago today.


	11. Chapter 11

He went away. Just over a month.

I cleaned. I threw away. I renovated.

I enlisted the help of my children. Good times.


	12. Chapter 12

Drove a whole day south. Met him at the station the following morning.

He was tired, sick. Seemed happy to see me.

We drove an hour north.

Spent the morning sightseeing, walking two feet apart like friends.


	13. Chapter 13

Spent an hour in the spa bath of the rented room.

Romance momentary. His orgasm assured, unlike mine.

He is sick.


	14. Chapter 14

Home two days.

First night I went to bed alone.

That is normal.

I have yet to complete the renovations - time...

There is no enthusiasm for all the work done. Non-committal words.

Conversation is minimal.

I should be used to disappointment.

I've misplaced the shed key so found the spare. I haven't put away his tools correctly.

I never get anything right.

Today he's angry and depressed.


	15. Chapter 15

Weeks without derisive cynicism.

Returned. A stark reminder of my place.

Mild anger. Closet tears. Rare smiles.

Simmering under taut skin.

Our studies, separated by a timber membrane.

Feel his keyboard strokes through the floor.

Earbuds cannot dull phone conversation.

Noise. Always noise.

No skills . . . Part-time work.

The norm of the dutiful wife.

No money. Hide a few dollars here.

Take time to leave.

Careful plotting of my freedom.


	16. Chapter 16

Night time and the curtains are drawn. Pitch black.

Naked, we talk. No eyes or expression to gauge and dictate conversation.

Emotions break. Our bodies seek and take. Heated. Wild. Painfully beautiful.


	17. Chapter 17

Blood clots. Large. Too many. His urine runs red.


	18. Chapter 18

He has to see a specialist. Even with private health cover, the wait is long.

We talk about ourselves. We listen. We hold each other. We touch.

But we don't talk about what lies ahead.


	19. Chapter 19

He dreamed of a spread of land covered in green giants.

The wood, freshly hewn, bright red like fresh, clean blood.


	20. Chapter 20

Parchment. My favourite kind. His penmanship unsuited.

His few written words expressed more than our lifetime together.

"Awe. That was my constant in your presence. I was nothing compared to you. Your complexities, your love for me . . . I was never worthy.

I distanced myself from you because I needed you to not love me so much.

Why? I needed you to survive me.

All I succeeded in doing was cause you to doubt yourself, I made you feel unworthy. Unloveable.

I hope, when last we made love, you felt my regret for what I had done to you, that you recognised my love for you, how I never wanted to leave you.

Forgive my follies.

See a part of me in our children, in our grandchildren, and know that through them my love for you is forever."


	21. Chapter 21

The now dark red box sits on the shelf.

It's empty.

Yesterday I walked through public gardens amongst green giants.

Small grey grains and ash mixed with the earth - it is where he wanted to be.


End file.
